


Samson

by desert_coffin



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 'I'm not a baby' verse, First Time, Isak has longish hair, M/M, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 04:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10454946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert_coffin/pseuds/desert_coffin
Summary: Even braids Isak's hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to take place in a childhood AU where Isak had -and now has again- long hair. Think of it as an alternative first time scene to meine gute freundin cuteandtwisted's 'I'm not a baby'.

“Don't slouch”, Even says, pushing his palm flat against his spine, and Isak rolls his eyes but obeys anyway, straightening his back. He folds his hands over his lap, gaze flitting across the room distractedly. Somehow, he can still feel the phantom warmth of Even’s hand seeping through his shirt, and it makes his skin prickle with something he doesn't recognize.

Even is humming under his breath, carefully arranging the brush and comb he took from his mom’s room next to him over the bed, and Isak listens to the rustling sounds, loud in his ears. They’re sitting one behind the other on the bed, Even’s long legs forming a loose semicircle around him, and Isak thinks he can almost feel his body heat against his back despite all the empty space between them.

They've been going out of their skin for _weeks_ now, their bodies slow and lethargic from the stifling summer heat and the bright July sun beating down their back anytime they venture outside, and Isak honestly didn't have anything specific in mind when he suggested a few rounds of Mario Kart. Of course, Even had to turn it into a freaking game of dare because he knows that’s the only thing that would make Isak play in the first place. Not that braiding Isak's hair should count as a dare, but at least he didn't try to make him watch Baz Luhrmann’s entire filmography so Isak doesn't mind too much.

It’s so quiet in the room that Isak is a bit startled when Even starts smoothing a hand over the back of his head, gathering the soft hair there closer together. It's still hot outside despite the hour and the sun is almost blinding the way it glints off the slope of the roof. Even’s fingers are carding through his hair, lightly brushing against the sensitive skin of his scalp, and Isak closes his eyes against the feeling, relishes the cool obscurity for a moment. His head feels heavy, too full of thoughts.

“This is stupid,” he says, just to break the silence. “My hair is too short.” And it’s true; the hair at the back of his head barely reaches his shoulders now, and it’s not even long enough that he can pull it in a ponytail.

“You lost the dare, Isak. And it’s just a braid ,” Even replies, and Isak tries not to squirm at the proximity of his voice. His tone is deep and level, like he's trying to reason with a difficult child, and Isak kind of wants to reach around to smack his shoulder but resists the impulse. Instead, he just sits still as Even continues petting his hair, gently dragging the curls around his ears toward the back of his head.

The gesture is strangely soothing, and Even’s touch so calming that Isak lets his head tip back slightly, unconsciously following the movement of Even’s fingers. It's only when Even cups his hands around the sides of his face and forces him to straighten his neck, palms hot and a bit clammy, that he realizes what he just did.

“Can you sit still for a second,” Even asks flatly, and it raises goosebumps all over the skin of his arms.

“Shut up,” Isak mumbles, and he hopes his voice doesn't sound as strained as it feels, clogged up in his throat. His heart is beating too fast and he takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down.

The wall to the side is covered in those stupid little drawings Even loves to hide in his backpack, and Isak focuses on one so he doesn’t have to think about Even’s hands in his hair, staring at the speech bubbles like he can read Even’s scrawny handwriting from where he sits.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement and then Even starts brushing his hair, gathering the longer strands over his nape softly. Isak feels it right down to his toes, every stroke of the brush sending thrills down his spine when the coarse bristles come to a stop against his neck, before they slide through his hair again. There’s a patch of skin along the side of his neck that Even’s knuckles are trailing over, and Isak swallows hard, tries to distract himself from the unsettling sensation spreading through his body.

Even doesn’t _need_ to brush his hair for 5 minutes, and Isak opens his mouth to tell him just that, but his mouth falls slack on a quiet whimper he can’t hold back when the bristles catch on a knot. Even doesn’t realise immediately and pulls at his hair a little too forcefully before he stops, and Isak cranes his neck slightly to hide the shivers spreading through him.

“Sorry,” Even says softly, right next to his ear, and Isak has to close his eyes against the rush of sensations. Even’s voice is soft and low in that quiet way he speaks when it’s just the two of them, and every word he says blows a warm puff of hair against the sliver of skin exposed by Isak’s gaping collar.

“‘s okay,” Isak replies despite the lump in his throat. There's something hot pooling in the pit of his stomach that he desperately tries to ignore, shifting slightly to quash the shudder building along the slope of his shoulders. His heart is racing against his ribcage, and his skin feels hot under his fingers when he grips his own ankles, willing himself to calm down.

Even drops his hand to put the brush down, and Isak squirms as the back of his nails trail lightly against the back of Isak’s shirt, sending tingles along the length of his spine. Now grabbing the comb, Even sweeps it at the curls falling over his forehead before he drags it lightly through his hair, plastic teeth like a strange caress against the sensitive skin.

Isak wants to crane his neck again, lean into the feeling of the comb skittering against the knobs at the base of his skull; he has to grip at the blanket under his hands to stop himself from moving at all. It’s like his brain has turned to mush from the heat and the onslaught of sensations taking over his body.

He’s already so tense, every nerve in his body set on edge, yet nothing prepares him for the flare of heat in his chest when Even murmurs appreciatively, “Your hair is so soft,” and sinks his hands into Isak’s hair. His fingers are fanning out far and wide and -if he was breathing normally right now- Isak would probably make fun of him for being literally unable to keep his hands off his hair. It’s too much at once, however; he can barely string two sentences together from the way Even’s thumbs are flitting along the nape of his neck.

It shouldn't feel this good, shouldn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary, but somehow it's all Isak can do not to moan as the pads of Even’s fingers rub against his skull. His face feels hot from more than just the summer heat, and there’s a groan building in his throat as Even takes his hair between his fingers again, twisting the strands around his fingers and pulling a little too hard when he coils them together.

Isak bites his lip down hard as a pang of _want_ tears through his body and settles in his lower belly. He can feel his body begin to react and forces himself to move as inconspicuously as he can, uncrossing his legs and drawing his knees against his chest. Even is still calmly braiding his hair, seemingly unaware of the growing turmoil in Isak’s body, and Isak hugs his knees nervously again as wave after wave of shivers course through him.

After what feels like an eternity Even starts tying off the end of the short braid, and he just can’t be done soon enough so Isak can pretend he needs a break and go lock himself up in the bathroom until he feels normal again. His mind is racing and he desperately tries to think of something else while Even flicks the bound hair around a few times to examine his handiwork, hot breath fanning over his neck.

It’s all too much, the way his fingers are grazing his skin and pulling slightly at the braid, and Isak is too far gone to stop the shudder that grows at the base of his neck and shakes his entire body. Instantly Even’s hands are on him, curling around his biceps, and he’s asking what’s wrong, and his voice sounds strangely out of place, but Isak isn’t listening anymore. He tries to squirm out of Even’s hold, _needing_ to get out of the room before Even figures it out, and real panic sets in when the grip around his muscles tightens.

“What the-”, he starts, but behind him Even is shifting and scooting closer, and Isak shuts his mouth, trains his eyes on his bedroom door as the sounds of Even’s breaths grow closer.

There’s a few seconds of uncertainty during which Isak sits frozen, until Even’s plush lips kiss the side of his neck and Isak’s entire body relaxes as he lets out a gasp. Even’s mouth is softly trailing against his neck, and his fingers are digging into the flesh of Isak’s arms and it does _things_ to Isak. He feels feverish, nerves alight and head swimming with the way Even’s warm lips drag over his skin to kiss a slow trail along his vertebrae and the side of his neck.

It feels so good that he can’t stop the little pants tumbling out of his mouth every time Even kisses his skin wetly and blows a warm breath over it, the hot and cold sensation like the best kind of burning against his sensitive skin. Even is relentless, yanking at the sleeve of his T-shirt to bare the skin underneath so he can kiss his shoulder, and Isak breathes deeply, eyes sliding shut and neck tilting to the side like an offering. For a little while, they lose themselves to the feeling of the light, fluttery caresses, Even’s tongue peeking between his lips to lick at Isak’s warm skin in a way that makes shivers run down his spine all over again.

Isak’s eyes fly open when Even puts a hand over his knee, not moving for a few seconds before he slides it upward slowly, until his thumb is slipping under the leg of the light summer shorts Isak is wearing.

“Open your legs, Isak,” Even coaxes, voice soft and low, and Isak’s heart misses a beat. His mouth is gaping open, and he’s breathing hard as he looks down at Even’s fingers rubbing small circles into the skin of his thigh.

“ _Even-_ ” he chokes out, and Even cuts him off with a deep voice Isak has never heard before.

“Trust me,” Even says, and there’s an edge to his words like a promise that makes Isak’s head reel, makes him take a deep breath and exhale shakily, body sagging bonelessly against Even’s. He lets his head fall back on Even’s shoulder as his legs spread slowly apart, body buzzing like a live wire.

Even’s palm is still hovering over his leg, bold fingers bunching the fabric as they trail up along his skin, but Isak stops paying attention because Even turns his head toward him and then he’s kissing his cheek and his jaw, a strong arm coming to wrap around his stomach. Time freezes for a moment, Isak questioning the unbearable urge he has to tip his face into Even’s, and when he finally does Even shows no hesitation.

The first stroke of their mouths together is everything Isak imagined and more, lips sliding effortlessly despite the odd angle, and he lets Even pull him closer into his chest to deepen the kiss. The hand wrapped around Isak’s inner thigh pushes forward and clamps down hard on the soft flesh, fingers rubbing back and forth, and Isak moans into the kiss when they graze the most sensitive area on his body.

He’s panting hard, thighs quivering, and it's almost too much when Even’s other hand slips smoothly under his shirt, warm fingertips skimming over the skin. His breath hitches, stomach involuntarily hollowing out, and he lets his eyes slide shut as Even explores the taut expanse of skin carefully.

“Shh, baby,” Even whispers against his ear before kissing the shell of it. “Let me take care of you.”

Isak _knows_ what’s coming, then, and he cranes his neck toward the ceiling with a low groan when Even slips a curious hand under the waistband of his shorts.

He’s been aroused too much too long to last more than a minute under Even’s ministrations. Each stroke of Even’s hand is making him buck his hips into the fist curled around him, the warm palm rubbing at the oversensitive skin slowly and sending shudders like aftershocks through Isak’s body. Even’s thumb is smoothing and slipping over all the right places and he kisses the corner of his mouth until Isak is spilling come all over his clothes.

For a moment, he stares at the cracks in the ceiling, counting his breaths as he listens to Even’s harsh breathing against his neck. His nose is nuzzling Isak’s cheek slowly, arms wrapped around his torso like he’s afraid Isak will evaporate, and Isak lets himself melt into his embrace for a moment.

When Isak finally speaks, there’s a teasing edge in his voice he can’t quite hide.

“I’m thinking I might let my hair grow again,” he says, and Even doesn’t say anything, presses a smile to his cheek and hugs him closer.  

 


End file.
